


Just A Boy

by Renne



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: AU, Age Difference, College AU, M/M, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renne/pseuds/Renne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames as a European history professor that Arthur has a hopeless crush on, and he goes to his office hours and plays dumb just to hear Eames expound on WWII.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://futureperfect.livejournal.com/851908.html).

Arthur's done stupid things for a crush before.

There was that time when he was ten and climbed to the highest branch of the oak tree in the backyard to show Jamie from next door that he could and fell out and broke his wrist. There was that time he got caught shoplifting a ten dollar pair of sunglasses for Alex when he was thirteen. There was that time he was fifteen and stole his mother's car and accidentally ran it into a tree when he was desperate to impress Rowan from down the road.

He'd thought he'd grown out of doing stupid things for crushes when he'd moved out of home at eighteen and proved that he was perfectly capable of getting thoroughly laid without doing said stupid things.

Hell, he'd thought he'd grown out of crushes full stop.

Of course, Arthur had then gone on to university and his brain and his heart colluded once more to make him fall head over heels in lust-filled yearning for one after another knowledgeable sort. It was like he'd never even grown up. (If Arthur had a 'type' when it came to his crushes, it was people who liked to know how things worked: Jamie built expert machines out of Technic, Alex had been fascinated by the Milky Way, Rowan wanted to be a large animal vet.)

Even though thieving and personal endangerment are pretty idiotic things to do, Arthur thinks he's currently skirting the pinnacle of stupidity when he actually takes a class because it's the only one with his hot crush in it. Really. _This_ is what his education has come to. He should be taking classes with slightly more of an architectural bent than: "They have buildings in Europe, Arthur, obviously. And knowing the history of them is not a complete waste of time, is it?" Thank you, Ariadne.

But his idiocy gets worse. Because it's not another student Arthur is hard up for, oh no, that would be too easy. If it was a fellow student Arthur could just do that thing he does (that thing he learned about himself when he became independent; that thing he didn't have when he was younger and Jamie and Alex and Rowan all thought he was just a stupid little boy not worth a minute of their time, until he'd done something stupid) and they would fall a bit in love with him, fall into bed with him, but he doesn't fancy that would work on someone with actual life experience.

It didn't work on Professor Cobb, after all. He hadn't even realised Arthur was interested on a more than academic level; Professor Cobb had seen it as a meeting of minds, Arthur as his prodigy, which had disappointed Arthur to no end. But then, of course, Arthur had met Professor Cobb's lovely wife Mal and it all made sense. Cobb was so clearly devoted to her that any kind of romantic aspirations Arthur may or may not have been contemplating vanished almost instantly.

He couldn't compete with that kind of love. No one could compete.

So now, months later, he's standing outside another professor's office, staring at the handwritten name tag that had been taped at eye height on the timber. 'EAMES' it reads in bold red marker.

Arthur takes a deep breath, reaches out and knocks. "Hmm?" he hears come from inside and leans forward, fingertips nudging the door open. He peers around it into the tiny office. "Sorry, sir, I was just wondering if you, uh, if you had a moment?"

"Ah!" Professor Eames glances up from his papers, not even looking at what he's doing when he picks up an empty tumbler with a hint of brown liquid in the bottom and stuffs it away in a drawer. There's a glimmer of guilty amusement in his eyes. "Hello Arthur, do come in." Does he say Arthur's name warmly? Maybe it's just that accent. Ugh, Arthur can't tell. He's smiling politely as Arthur slinks into the office, though, so that's got to be something, right? At least Arthur's presence isn't an annoyance. Yet. God, what is he, twelve years old?

Man the fuck up, he tells himself. You can do this.

As Arthur perches on the edge of the spare chair, Professor Eames leans forward in his own chair, folding his hands together on the desk in front of him. Arthur's developed a particular fascination with the professor's hands; between his hands and his mouth Arthur has all kinds of sexual fantasy fodder to keep him going for weeks. His current favourite is a hot and heavy make out session that devolves into Professor Eames blowing Arthur (on his desk, down the front of the lecture hall after everyone has left) while he finger fucks him slow and deep until—

"Arthur?"

"Huh?" Oh god. He's been caught staring. Willpower isn't enough to stop the blush he can feel crawling up his cheeks but Professor Eames doesn't seem to notice. Or if he notices, he tactfully doesn't mention it.

"I said: how can I help you today, Arthur?" God, every time Professor Eames says his name in that deep, raspy voice... Arthur could listen to the vowels and consonants that make up his name coming out of this man's mouth _all day_. Ahhthur. Ahhhthurrrr.

Arthur sets his bag down on the floor by the chair. He crosses one leg over the other and hooks his hands around his knee, leaning forward with a wide-eyed look of sincerity. "It's about the stuff we were going over in class today," he says. "I'm not sure I quite understand it yet and I was wondering if you had any free time to go over it with me. Uh. Now, I thought, if you're not too busy?"

The smile that curves Professor Eames' lips at that is a little more honest and, quite frankly, delightful. "A student actually coming to my office for help with the class?" He spreads his hands and rolls his eyes up towards the ceiling. "Will wonders never cease? Oh Arthur, thank you. I was beginning to think the only thing I was any good for anymore was telling nubile young women that their attention is flattering, really, but I don't date students."

Oh. Well fuck.

(Okay, so it wasn't seriously like Arthur thought he had the game needed to instantly hook his hot foreign professor right _now_ , but he knew he had proven form over long distances when it came to winning people over. No. No matter what Professor Eames says, Arthur knows this isn't a lost cause. He'll stick to his plan: he will find out if Professor Eames is receptive and go from there. After all, Rome wasn't built in a trite metaphor. Arthur can do this.)

"Anyway, enough about the trials of your long suffering, terribly attractive teacher," and Professor Eames grins mischievously at that, which makes Arthur glad he's sitting down because – back with the whole acting like a twelve year old thing again – it really makes his knees weak. "What can I help _you_ with?"

Oh shit. Now Arthur had to remember what Professor Eames had been teaching today. He'd spent most of the class with his chin propped on his hand staring dreamily at the professor, doodling idly in his notebook and ignoring Ariadne kicking him repeatedly in the ankle when he wouldn't respond to her 'Arthur and Eames, sitting in a tree' jibes.

"Oh," he says, thinking quickly. "Oh. Um. Today. When you were talking about the political events in pre-war Europe... the, uh, the—what did you call it? That thing with the Austrians...?"

"The Anschluss?"

"Yeah, that. I was... I mean, I don't think I really got how Hitler managed to coerce Austria into giving up independence."

"Ahh," Professor Eames says thoughtfully. He leans back in his chair, props his leg up on the corner of his desk. He's wearing purple socks. With hippos on them. _Hippos_. Christ, Arthur is so in love with this man. "Well, that comes down to the wonders the German propaganda machine promulgated and Hitler's propensity for threats and dirty politics. After the failed coup by the Austrian National Socialists in '34, Kurt von Schuschnigg became Chancellor of Austria..."

***

Three hours later, Professor Eames has covered the Anschluss and the Munich Agreement and then chronologically right through to the Winter War and Soviet Union's invasion of Finland in the kind of depth that makes Arthur's head spin. The sky is starting to darken outside the office window and the desk is covered in paper littered with scribbles and diagrams. There are ink stains on Professor Eames' fingers and a little on his neck that Arthur wants to slide over the desk and lick away.

But despite himself, and despite the occasional sexy distraction, Arthur is almost embarrassed to admit to himself that he's found all of this _interesting_. And not all of it can be pinned on rolling around in Professor Eames' lovely, raspy voice and rubbing up against his terribly quick, clever brain for three hours. Ariadne is never going to let him live it down.

Arthur is sure they could have gone on for three hours more if his stomach hadn't given a treacherous yowl (fair enough, as he hadn't eaten since breakfast). Professor Eames glances over at the clock and swears suddenly. "Is that the time?" He jerks to his feet and shoots Arthur an apologetic look, quickly gathering his things. "I'm so sorry, Arthur, but we're going to have to leave it there. We'll cover the Mannerheim Line in class, I promise."

Arthur picks up his bag and stands slowly.

"Here," Professor Eames says, shuffling the paper on the desk into a neat pile and clipping them together with a small binder clip. "You can have this." Arthur overreaches a little as he takes it, their fingers brushing together.

"Thanks," Arthur says, pausing a beat before saying, "this has been really great. Really useful. I feel like I've got a much better grip on pre-war Europe for my essay now."

"Mm, I'm sure you have." Professor Eames gives him a knowing look. "You'll be fine, I have no doubt about it. I have heard plenty of excellent things about you from Dom Cobb." Arthur's heart flip-flops like a landed fish for a moment at the thought of them talking about him. Professor Eames adds, "European history isn't such a rubbish filler class after all, is it?"

Arthur has the grace to blush, because he's still younger than he wishes he was and hasn’t got the control he wants to have. "Yeah," he says. "Well."

Professor Eames laughs as he squeezes around the desk. "Never mind, Arthur. I've enjoyed our chat." He slings his own bag over his shoulder and ushers Arthur out the office door with a light hand at the small of his back. He might be barely touching Arthur but his fingertips are five warm spots through Arthur's t-shirt and he's standing close enough for Arthur to smell the last remnants of his cologne. "See you next week," he says and shuts the office door behind them.

"Yeah," Arthur says "see you." He watches Professor Eames head away up the corridor for a moment, before turning and walking in the other direction, a dopey smile threatening to burst out all over his face. He feels tingly all over from the touch of Professor Eames' hand. (Casual, only casual, but ugh, Arthur is still a little turned on just by that. Goddamn hormones. He thought he'd have grown out of _that_ by now, at least.)

"Oh – Arthur?" Professor Eames calls and Arthur stops instantly, turning. He feels a ridiculous surge of hope.

"Sir?"

Professor Eames points at him, grins and says, "You are always welcome to come back next week for a chat, you know. If you feel you need to get a – what did you call it? – a _better grip_ on next week's topic?"

Arthur beams back at Professor Eames and tries not to look completely giddy and love-struck. "Yeah," he says. "Maybe I will."


End file.
